


follow the spell

by twilighteve



Category: Buzzfeed Unsolved (Web Series)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Magic, Casual Magic, Ghosts, M/M, Magic, Psychic Abilities, Spirits, Supernatural - Freeform, Urban Fantasy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-04
Updated: 2019-09-04
Packaged: 2020-10-10 01:15:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,423
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20519555
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twilighteve/pseuds/twilighteve
Summary: “Why’d you help me?” Tinsley blurted out.“This is kind of embarrassing to say,” Goldsworth hedged, “and it will probably be awkward.”“I’ve dealt with a lot of embarrassing and awkward situations. Putting yours in the pile won’t be that much of a problem.”Goldsworth sighed and ruffled his hair. “It’s… well, there’s no point beating around the bush. I like you.”The hunger that had sit in Tinsley’s stomach disappeared in a blink. “I’m sorry, what.”Tinsley is the detective who took it upon himself to catch Ricky Goldsworth. It should have been straightforward: get the criminal, shove him to the police to lock up, move on with life.Except Goldsworth refused to let it be straightforward.





	follow the spell

**Author's Note:**

> companion piece-slash-prequel to [cross your heart (stay alive)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15227277/chapters/35317797). you don't have to read that before reading this, but it provides some context for the later parts of this story.

Tinsley drummed his fingers on the table as he sipped on his coffee. The sigil drawn on the hardwood table had been sparking flames and slightly smoking for a while now. He frowned in displeasure.

“I told you, if it’s sparking and smoking that means it’s working,” the woman in front of him said, irked.

“I know already, but did you really have to slap the sigil on my desk?” Tinsley grumbled. “It’s new. And it’s oak. And it cost me a lot.”

“What’s important is that the sigil is working,” she countered.

Tinsley glared. “You know damn well the mark will stay permanently.”

“Which means you can reuse the tracking spell again and again as long as you charge it.”

“Cesca, you _branded my desk_ and you didn’t even tell me about it,” Tinsley snapped at last.

Francesca only shrugged. “Small price for tracking your guy.”

Tinsley sighed and gulped down his drink. It burned his tongue, and it hurt, but he bit it down and ignored the pain. He took this case because he was bored and it seemed interesting, but it was starting to look like the case was far more troublesome than it’s worth.

“In any case, you should be happy it’s your desk and not your hand,” Francesca said. “Traditionally, the tracking spell will be applied on the caster’s skin. They’d have to play hot-and-cold to find their mark, except the hot part really means they’d literally be burned.”

“And how do I do that game to know if my mark is near?”

Francesca pointed at the burning sigil. “If you press your skin there – palm, arm, whatever works – a copy of the sigil will appear on you. You’ll feel it get warmer and colder instead of burning hot. But the copy will disappear in a day, so you’ll have to refresh it a lot.”

Tinsley nodded. “Alright.” He glanced at the sigil and took a deep breath. “Well, I suppose I’ll have to focus on work now. Thanks for teaching me the spell, Cesca.”

A smile ghosted Francesca’s face. “You owe me one,” she said. She took her purse and coat. “Well, best of lucks, Tinsley. You’ll need all of it to catch your guy.”

“Will you at least tell me what your actual job is, or what your innate magic actually is?”

The ghost of a smile bloomed into a grin. “Catch the astral projecting murderer first. Maybe I’ll tell you then.”

Tinsley wasn’t even going to bother asking her how she knew he was asked to catch his killer. He waved as Francesca disappeared from his door. Once the tail of her dress was out of sight, he turned to the sigil.

“Alright,” he muttered, “let’s start with you…”

* * *

Ricky was strolling along the sidewalk when he felt _something_. He paused momentarily, probing the sensation to investigate what it was, but it was gone the moment he reached out. Shrugging, he continued on his way. No one ever caught him, anyway. He was safe.

Nevermind the fact that he found it perplexing that people didn’t like what he was doing. He was just trying to help.

With a spring in his steps, he walked to a building and made a beeline to the stairs, climbing up and up until he reached he roof. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, feeling the wind in his long hair. He moved to the edge of the roof and looked down to the ground.

He took another deep breath, looking up to the sky. Soft pink and orange washed the sky, making it look almost ethereal and dream-like. The dusk would be the only witness of this. But that was okay; she asked that no one would know about this. He could respect that.

He spread his arms, splaying his limbs against the wind. He took a deep breath, released it, and leaned forward and waited for gravity to grab him and bring him to earth, but it never came.

Instead, a hand caught his borrowed arm and burned a sigil into the skin with a sharp whistle, and ejected him out of the body. The woman’s body was pulled back to the roof and fell onto a heap, her mind locked so deep within herself that she fell unconscious immediately. He yelled, surprised and indignant at the interruption, and turned to glare at whoever disturbed him.

His eyes fell onto a man with light, sandy hair. His stormy eyes burned into Ricky’s, and he panted with exertion, sweat beading down his chin. There was a faint grey cloud pulsing about him, tinted with seafoam green, that disappeared when Ricky tried to get a better look at it. The woman was held gingerly in his arms, and he gently put the woman down and stood up. “I finally caught up to you,” he muttered, almost to himself.

“Who are you?” Ricky demanded.

“Who am I? Who are _you_?” the man shot back. His trench coat flapped as the wind blew. “What gives you the right to take over people’s bodies and kill them?”

Ricky tilted his head. “But they ask me to.”

“That’s still illegal,” the man growled. He then hissed and grabbed his left hand with his right, thumb massaging the palm. There was a subtle flash of a spell, almost undetectable if it wasn’t for the man’s movements, and Ricky blinked.

“Is that a tracking spell?” he blurted. “How in the world did you put a tracking spell on me? This is the first time I’d ever seen you.”

“I have my ways,” the man said with a shrug. His sharp eyes pierced into Ricky’s. “That’s not important. Do you want to come with me quietly, or do we need to do this the hard way?”

Ricky sighed. “Do I have to come? I know a lot of people don’t understand my intentions, but the fact that you’re trying to bring me in is confusing to me, Detective.”

“I can explain it all you want once the police has processed your files,” the detective said. He licked his lips and began whistling loudly.

To Ricky’s alarm, he felt himself being pulled as a connection to the detective is being made. He quickly made a sharp gesture and barked a dispelling charm to disrupt the process. The detective reacted quickly by building another spell in his whistle to bind him, and Ricky layered a protective charm, disrupting spell, and a small explosion hex into one and pushed the spell to the detective. It wasn’t strong, but it was distracting enough to stop the detective. He reeled in surprise, whistle-spell stopping abruptly as his magic was scrambled in the air. Ricky took his chance and let his wandering soul soar through the sky and return into his living body.

As usual, the jarring difference between being a soul free from bodily limitations had him gasping. For the first few minutes of returning, he had to force himself to remember how to breathe, to feel his heart beating, to remember that there was flesh and blood around his soul, protecting him from the elements. After a while, his body remembered how to live on its own, and Ricky sat on his bed.

He leaned to the wall, looking at the ceiling, thinking. Did he leave a trail somehow? No one had been able to even come close to him before, and yet the detective was skilled enough to almost catch him. And he didn’t even know who he was. Most skilled detectives were well-known within their own circles, even the ones joining the big agencies to muddy the waters. Did the police find someone who was highly skilled but somehow managed to stay under the radars?

Ricky pictured the detective in his mind – the sandy hair, the stormy eyes, the stubborn set of his jaws, the way he licked his lips before he whistled his surprisingly strong binding spell. The grey and seafoam green of his aura, and the way he felt like the climbing vines and the ocean at the same time. Ricky licked his lips, subconsciously trying to copy the detective’s movements.

Well. Things just got a lot more interesting.

* * *

It wasn’t easy, tracking the murderer. Tinsley had to track him by tracking the victims first, going to the crime scenes and probing around for the feel of an aura he couldn’t see and had never been near by. That vague feeling was all he had to guide him in his search. The spell Francesca taught him helped him figure out where he should go, and it _did_ sharpen the feeling by a fraction, but it didn’t make it that much easier to track.

(There were times Tinsley ended up underground. He thought it was because many of the victims were six feet under. He tried to ignore how the aura felt soiled and rotten and how he kept seeing shadows at the corner of his vision despite not being able to see spirits. That wasn’t important to his quest, that wasn’t important, that wasn’t, get out of there get out _get out_ – )

And then he _met_ the murderer at that rooftop, and managed to force him out of the woman’s body before he got to let her fall, and suddenly Tinsley could feel him easily, and he knew immediately he could so very easily track the murderer again.

Tinsley stood by his desk, staring at the sigil Francesca branded into the wood, and began whistling. The feeling of the aura was still fresh in Tinsley’s mind, flashes of blitzing electric indigo and a constant buzz, like static electricity. He pushed the feeling into the sigil and let the spell recognize and recorded the pattern. It began sparking and smoking again with its spell reinvigorated, and Tinsley pressed his left palm to it so the sigil copied itself to his skin.

Like before, the sigil burned itself into his skin, and he gritted his teeth to stop himself from crying out. Once the copying process was over, the heat dimmed into warmth that had him sighing in relief. He lifted his hand and stared at it, studying the sigil, and closed his eyes.

Tomorrow. He’d start searching again tomorrow. The sun had long since set and the toll of maintaining the spell, holding out the pain from the heat, and running several searching and tracking spells in the background at all times was consuming. He’d need his rest.

And so Tinsley began his search the next day. He just didn’t expect it to be the longest game of cat-and-mouse he’d ever partake in.

He probed around everywhere he went, letting the warmth of his tracking spell in his palm lead him to where the murderer was. He knew he was inching closer each day – the warmth kept intensifying, and that was a clear enough indicator that he was on the right track. Investigations followed along the physical tracking and soon he came up with a name: Ricky Goldsworth.

What was annoying was that Goldsworth found his name too, and had taken to call him Tins. What was infuriating was that he did it while possessing other people then ditching the bodies when Tinsley started whistling a binding spell. Hence his current situation.

A young man, barely twenty, slumped over Tinsley’s lap when Goldsworth’s soul left his body. The man, whose soul was most likely locked within himself because of the possession, fell unconscious and almost landed on his face, so Tinsley caught him when he lost his balance. Unfortunately he ended up dragging Tinsley with him to the ground, and that was how Tinsley found himself sitting on the pavement with a young adult unconscious over him.

Tinsley sighed. There was barely any progress on his case, and it was starting to get frustrating. Sure it was fun at first, cases like this gave him the opportunity to walk around town, and going after a criminal who could actually keep up with him was nice. But things had started to stagnate, and Tinsley wanted the gears to start moving again.

“Alright, let’s get you somewhere safe,” Tinsley muttered to himself as he hoisted the young man and carried him on his back. He navigated through the alleyways and found himself frowning when he realized he was in one of the less safe areas of town. He sighed. He really needed to pay more attention to where he went when he tried to follow the spell’s directions.

He bumped hard into someone when he emerged out of the alley and into the more crowded street, and he muttered an apology on reflex. He couldn’t see who they were, but a surprising feeling of coals and roaring flames jumped to his skin before it dissipated in an instant. It unnerved him, but he pushed the feeling down. He could feel people’s aura sometimes. It wasn’t that weird.

He dropped the unconscious person he had been carrying off a small clinic, explaining that he was exhausted after being possessed. After getting the receptionist’s word that they wouldn’t charge a fee for providing government-mandated spiritual refuge, Tinsley walked out of the clinic and back to the streets.

He barely walked three steps when someone crashed into him, grasping a fistful of his collar and dragging him away to the nearest alleyway. Tinsley was too surprised to do anything, and before he knew it his back was pressed against brick wall, coals and roaring flames blowing hot air into his face.

“Ow,” was all Tinsley could say. He blinked away the darkness in his vision as he waited for the pain to subside.

“C.C Tinsley,” a voice hissed, only inches from his face, and Tinsley froze immediately. He knew that voice. He glanced up to meet charcoal black eyes that seemed to burn with hatred.

“Oh,” Tinsley breathed. At the sound of his breath, the man holding him pressed his arm against Tinsley’s throat.

“Yeah, _oh_,” the man growled. The heat of coals and flames spiked for a moment. “Remember how you threw my brother in jail, _Detective_?” He spat the last word with such fervent that spots of spit landed on Tinsley’s cheek.

“I don’t know, it’s hard to forget the guy who robbed and killed and tried to frame the whole thing on the family’s guardian spirit,” Tinsley quipped back. He regretted the words as soon as they left his mouth when the man pressed his throat harder.

“He was thrown to _Mandrake_, you ass,” the man hissed through gritted teeth. “That wasn’t him. He can’t be the culprit.”

Tinsley stared at the man sympathetically. “Look, I get it. You can’t believe it’s him. In your eyes, he’s a nice person. But all evidence points at him to be the culprit. The court agrees with me.”

“Well you’re all wrong,” the man said, “and I’m going to make you pay.”

He held his free hand up, and the fingers caught fire. Tinsley’s eyes widened at the sight, nervousness climbing his spine, and he licked his lips, preparing to whistle.

“Oh no, you don’t,” the man said, half growling, and pressed his arm harder to Tinsley’s throat and effectively cutting his airway. Tinsley choked, flailing in an attempt to break free, but the man only pressed harder. Panic rose in Tinsley’s chest, threatening to burst. Dizzy stars climbed up his temples and bloomed at the edges of his vision. His mind latched onto the first spell he could think of that didn’t involve whistling, but when he held up his hand to draw a sigil in the air, the flaming hand grabbed his and scorched his skin. He choked out a pained cry.

“Maybe if I burn off your mouth, you won’t be able to use your most prominent spells anymore,” the man whispered in his ear, and Tinsley felt a shiver climb up his spine as fearful cold gripped his being, mind going a mile a minute on trying to find solution to his problem while knowing full well that he had no way out.

He managed a feeble kick. “N-no,” he gasped out, trying to ignore the burning need in his chest as he struggled to _breathe_ and failing at both.

The man cocked his head. “Too bad,” he said as he let go of Tinsley’s hand and let fire coat his own. “My brother doesn’t want to be jailed either.”

Tinsley wanted to shut his eyes, but his dimming sight was locked to the man’s flaming hand. He watched, helpless, as the man flexed his fingers and reached for his lips.

And then someone barreled over the man, and Tinsley fell to the ground, gasping and coughing. He lifted a trembling hand to his throat and winced when he realized his hand had been burnt. He held his hand close to his chest, still coughing and gasping. He felt lightheaded – which was a given, since he had just been effectively choked, but considering his current situation this really wasn’t a good thing.

He looked up blearily while trying to keep the coughing down to see the man with the flaming hand – snuffed now – charging into a man with black hair. The black haired man let out a loud _oof_ when the flame mage knocked him down to the ground, barked at him to stay down, and turned back to Tinsley.

The way he glared at Tinsley made him freeze for the briefest moment. With his coal-black eyes seemingly catching fire, he didn’t seem fully human at all. Instinct took over and Tinsley tried to run away, but he was still weakened, his whole being still screaming to be supplied with more air that he had been cut away from. He found himself falling back and hitting the wall.

“I’m not done with you just yet,” the flame mage said as he lit his hand aflame again. He walked to Tinsley slowly, purposefully.

Panic and fear rushed through Tinsley’s veins at once, knowing he was at a disadvantage. He swallowed a cough and opened his mouth, feeling his magic flooding his being as he tried to keep himself safe. It filled his mouth with the taste of leaves and saltwater and masked the burning pain from the earlier choking. His tongue felt tingly. He didn’t think it should feel tingly.

“_Stay back_!” Tinsley yelled hoarsely, and the building magic blasted off his being, knocking the flame mage off his feet and slamming him into the opposite wall. Tinsley gasped again as soon as the words left his mouth, hacking some more, finally feeling how his own magic had scrubbed his throat raw. It felt rawer still as even more of his magic pooled into his mouth.

“You fucking – “ the flame mage cussed as he peeled himself off the ground. With a vicious snarl, he slammed a burning hand on the ground, and a ribbon of flame shot out of his hand and to Tinsley, wrapping itself around him. The other man rose from his spot and tried to stop the flame mage, but he easily raised a wall of fire to keep the man back. Then, he lifted the hand with the flame ribbon, yelled a spell Tinsley couldn’t recognize, and shook the ribbon like he was trying to whip Tinsley. White flash, hotter than any flame, travelled through the ribbon much faster than Tinsley anticipated and set his whole being on fire.

Tinsley crumpled to the ground as the ribbon flame dissipated. He pressed his burnt hand into his lips, no longer caring about pain, because even the burn was nothing compared to what he was going through.

Everything felt foreign.

The pain was too much. The sensation of his hand on his lips was too much, but he couldn’t bring himself to move again. The sensation of fabric brushing and clinging to his skin was too much, the sensation of his _skin_ was too much, the sensation of blood and bones within flesh bag too heavy to carry was too much, the need to breathe and blink and keep his body functional was _too much_.

He shouldn’t be _here_. He was meant to float around free, unbothered by worldly limits like gravity and time. But he was _here_, and _trapped_, and he had no way out of this cage everyone called a body lovingly.

Tinsley crumpled into himself, struggling to breathe, unable to move, and silently endured the suffering feeling of wanting to eject himself out of his body but was unable to.

* * *

When Ricky came back to his own body, he huffed a silent laugh, regulated his breathing until his body remembered to do it automatically, and stretched. It was fun, playing cat-and-mouse with Tinsley, but one of these days one of them was going to give in. He just didn’t know who would do it first.

Truth to be told, things were getting a bit redundant. Tinlsey had him tracked, somehow, and Ricky had learned to recognize his aura and track him right back. Even from so far away, he could tell where Tinsley was by zoning in on him. He wasn’t sure Tinsley’s method was the same since he could only do it because he could sense and see people’s aura, but it seemed like Tinsley’s spell was something similar to that.

He stood up and walked out of the cheap motel room he rented, deciding to go on a walk. This place was dangerously close to where he last spotted Tinsley, but he should have his hands full with the guy Ricky possessed so Ricky was willing to take that risk. He blew a breath, let his senses roam, and found himself zoning in on Tinsley again.

He stopped in his tracks. Something was wrong. Undercurrent of panic flooded Tinsley’s ocean-and-vines, and before he knew it Ricky zeroed in on the detective’s location and found himself dashing there. He passed several pedestrians, bent street signs, and, just as he made a turn into an alley, a payphone that had seen better days. He faltered when he saw a fire mage holding a flaming hand against Tinsley’s own, let go of it, and reached for Tinsley’s face. The detective was red, almost purple, with the need to breathe.

Ricky barely even thought about it. He barreled the man over, sending all three of them tumbling to the ground. He scrambled to his feet and stood as soon as he was able, and found himself bowled over by the fire mage.

“Stay down,” the mage snarled at him, and Ricky found himself momentarily frozen in his place. Had the man layered his words with a binding spell? It didn’t feel like it, but his magic had flared all the same and created a similar effect. Ricky gnashed his teeth and tried to get back up, racking his brain for a cancellation spell. He really needed to learn more active magic.

The fire mage turned to Tinsley, and the detective retaliated, infusing magic into his voice and stunning Ricky out of surprise. He knew Tinsley was powerful and his magic was sound-based, but he hadn’t expected him to be able to release raw magic without any kind of spell.

And then the fire mage used a spell at Tinsley, and Ricky was stunned for another reason entirely. His own innate spiritual magic surged up and sloughed off the binding force around his limbs and he dragged the fire mage back.

“Are you out of your mind?!” he yelled. “What are you thinking, inducing soul dysphoria onto someone?!”

“It’s only temporal,” the mage argued, but he looked absolutely pleased at himself. “He’ll live.”

“He’s better off dead than wishing his soul is out when it’s absolutely tethered to his body,” Ricky hissed, then barked a binding spell to keep the mage down. The mage didn’t even try to fight it off, he simply laughed and let the spell envelope him despite the fact that Ricky’s active magic was weaker than most.

Ricky walked over carefully to Tinsley, wondering how to approach. He knew how soul dysphoria felt like. Every person who knew how to astral project knew how it felt like; it was their abilities calling out to them and telling them to let the soul free to roam. It was good, mentally healthy even, for astral projectors to let their souls wander from time to time. For people who weren’t astral projectors, they didn’t have the option to relieve the sensation of being caged in their own body by momentarily leaving it.

“Tins,” he called softly as he kneeled by the detective.

Tinsley blinked, looking like the simple act costed him too much energy and he just wanted to disappear into the earth. “…Goldsworth?” he whispered, frowning. Ricky was impressed. He didn’t think Tinsley would even have the energy to speak. “Why are you here?”

“Oh, you know, I was in the area,” Ricky answered flippantly. He smiled. “And you’re not the only one who knows how to track people.”

Tinsley simply blinked at him, uncomprehending. His breath slowed, getting shallower with each one he took.

“Hey, breathe,” Ricky said. “Don’t let your body give up on you because your soul gets sulky about being in a living body.” He dramatically made a show of breathing, and to his relief, Tinsley followed. After a moment of listening to Tinsley breathe, Ricky stood up. “Well, you seem like you can handle that much right now. Now excuse me while I make some phone calls and get help.”

“Why are you helping me?” Tinsley asked quietly. “I’m a detective hired to get you.”

“You’re the first to ever get close,” Ricky said with a shrug. “Am I not allowed to play favorites?”

Tinsley blinked blearily, clearly confused. His finger twitched, but he didn’t make any other move. He likely didn’t have the energy to do it. Soul dysphoria did that to everyone. Thank god Ricky had an out whenever the sensation hit him. He shrugged and walked to the payphone at the mouth of the alley and dialed 911, reporting the scene anonymously and walking away before the police got there.

Tinsley’s question niggled his mind, though. He _did_ like the detective. Still, he was surprised he liked him enough to come to his rescue in a moment’s notice like this. He shook his head and laughed inwardly at himself for being attached at the person who was literally his archenemy – dramatically speaking, of course.

He huffed as he entered his motel room. “Of course you’re attached to him,” he muttered to himself. “Did anyone ever able to match you toe to toe like this?”

The air didn’t answer his question. Of course it didn’t.

* * *

When the soul dysphoria wore off and he’d given his statements to the police, Tinsley went back to his apartment and slept for twelve hours straight. It was odd to feel comfortable in his own body after the whole ordeal, but he was grateful for it.

When he woke up, he found a bowl of soup with Francesca’s note attached to it, wishing him well and telling him to take better care of himself. Tinsley grimaced. This wasn’t the first time he had been caught up in incidents relating to his old cases, and it wouldn’t be the last, and Francesca knew well about it and wasn’t above telling him off.

He wasn’t even going to ask how she’d been able to get into his apartment. Who knows, with her? Instead, he heated up the soup and ate it, letting the warmth spread, and let his mind wander.

“He helped me,” Tinsley mumbled to himself. “Why?”

He stewed in the question, barely even tasting the soup anymore. He could barely read Ricky and the fact that he helped threw more question than it did answers. Tinsley felt like he was trying to assemble a jigsaw puzzle, but every time he thought he had some pieces connected he realized they didn’t connect at all and every time he thought he found an edge to the whole picture he realized it was never an edge. It didn’t help that the whole thing was composed of a single solid color.

He thought he felt the almost familiar buzz of static electricity within electric indigo that made his hair stand on end. He brushed it off, thinking it was just his mind playing tricks on him, but frowned when the feeling persisted.

When he finished the soup, he put the bowl in the sink and slunk over to his desk, staring at the sigil Francesca left him with. An idea bloomed in his mind and his finger twitched in thought.

Well. Nothing to lose.

He reached over for the map of the city and spread it over the desk, eyes roaming over it as he grabbed several reference books, spell tomes, and spellbuilding instruction manuals to study. Soft tunes whistled out of his lips, often dissonant as he searched for the correct pitch to use in his spell. New spells were always hard to figure out, but when you hit the right note it would jump at you.

Ah, there. He just found the first note. He scribbled it onto a stray music paper he had around to make sure he didn’t lose it.

His finger traced the city map and paused every now and then whenever a location seemed to be appropriate, but every time, he shook his head and moved on. Soft whistles escaped his lips still as his fingers roamed. Sooner or later, he’d find the location.

He found another note, a high-pitched long tone just as his fingers stopped on a location. He blinked, pausing in both whistling and searching.

That… that could work. No, that _would_ work. That location was perfect.

He began whistling again, stringing the two found spellnotes as he searched for the next, and grabbed the spellbuilding manual. Songspell wouldn’t be enough for this. He’d have to make a it stop at a pet shop later, too. There was so much to do.

But for the first time, he felt it in his bones that he was going somewhere. This would bring him somewhere, at last. A smile ghosted over his lips. Unbeknownst to him, exhilaration had settled upon his chest. It had been such a long time since he had found someone who actually managed to make him _work_. He’d forgotten how exciting it was, to have a solvable but infuriatingly hard to solve problem dropping at his lap. He’d missed the thrill of the chase, and Goldsworth was giving it to him. Sure, he was terrible for having killed those people, but that was an extra motivation to keep working.

Tinsley licked his lips, whistled some more, and began taking notes. He stopped, however, when his phone rang. With a sigh, he stood up and answered it.

“Hello?” he spoke to the phone, somehow managing not to sound like he was grumbling.

“_Hello, is this Detective Tinsley’s agency?_” a woman’s voice wafted over the phone.

“Yes. This is Tinsley speaking.”

“_Yes, um. Can I consult something with you? It’s about my son._”

“Ma’am, I’m sorry but I currently have my hands full. There is a case that needs my full attention – “

“_Please, you’re the best mage detective I can think of,_” the woman cut in, desperate. “_We found out our son is possessed – he’s been possessed for at least a week. We’ve tried everything to expel the spirit but nothing works. We can only hope a ritual will work._”

Tinsley’s jaws clenched. “…okay. I’m listening.”

* * *

To Ricky’s dismay, he had found himself tracking Tinsley’s position more often than not. He knew he was attached, but he hadn’t thought he was _this_ attached. And it was getting a bit embarrassing, too. What sort of person stalked the person who wanted to drag them to jail? Any sane person wouldn’t.

It was a bit weird though, and a bit worrying, that Tinsley hadn’t been moving much the past week. At first Ricky thought it was because he was still recovering from the fire mage’s spell, and it was probably true for the first few days. Had he moved on to other cases? A surprising flood of disappointment filled Ricky’s chest, and he sighed.

Still, it didn’t stop him from tracking Tinsley. For some reason, finding himself searching for him and tasting saltwater and vines bubbling with curiosity or frustration or passionate drive for whatever he was doing made him feel warm with fondness.

At least it did until the night he reached out and found blind panic instead. Icy cold lurched in Ricky’s stomach, and he was on his feet before he even processed what he was doing. He blinked a few times, trying to clear his head of the surprise, and reached out again. Panic twined around the vines and ocean, and Ricky dashed to the door, barely remembering to grab his coat and lock his door.

He dove deep and tried to pinpoint Tinsley’s location, not even caring about the possibility of the detective feeling his arrival via auric disturbance. His search pointed him to the coast – which, surprisingly, wasn’t too far away from where he was – and he ran there. He was out of breath by the time he reached the abandoned warehouses area by the sea, but it didn’t matter. Tinsley’s vines-and-ocean was still churning with fear and panic, and all Ricky cared about was getting to him as soon as possible.

He ran straight to the building closest to the water line, where the warehouse was built looming over the water. When he burst through the unlocked door, he saw that it was a boat warehouse, with some boats bobbing along the water and some hung by chains. Now that he was inside, Ricky could see it was closer to a rickety shack than a warehouse.

He panted in exhaustion, but his eyes were alert as always. He took cautious steps into the warehouse, looking around for any sign of Tinsley. He didn’t feel safe making a sound here, for some reason. He didn’t like the idea that someone might realize he was there.

There was a loud, piercing whistle that cut through the air, and the door slammed shut behind Ricky. The gaping windows at the ceiling provided enough light from outside for Ricky to see, and when he turned again, he saw a shadowy figure approaching him with frightening speed. On reflex, Ricky barked out a protective spell, but the figure smashed over the barrier. Before Ricky could comprehend what was going on, they were locked in what seemed to be magical brawl. Unfortunately for Ricky, he wasn’t too good at spells.

A high-pitched whistle that descended into a flurry of crazed symphony created a whirlwind of debilitating and binding spells that chased Ricky relentlessly. Amidst his attempts to build defense and realization that he was failing, recognition of Tinsley’s distinct magic of vines-and-ocean struck. Coldness bit into his fingers when he realized that it was a trap.

Despite Ricky’s best efforts, Tinsley was a skilled and experienced battler. Soon his magic snared him, and Ricky felt the spells twine around his limbs and locked him on the spot. With a decisive grab to Ricky’s arm and a vicious three-toned whistle, Tinsley ended the fight as he branded Ricky’s soul with complex sigils woven into one single magic circle that acted as a binding spell, tracking spell, and power limiter at once. It wound tight until Ricky knew, from the bottom of his heart, that even if he astral projected then and there he wouldn’t have been able to move out of his body for over an inch. The whistled spells evaporated as the branding sigil seeped into Ricky’s soul and activated, and he slumped on the dirty floor, trying to catch his breath.

Tinsley stood over him, panting as well. Even in the darkness Ricky could feel his sharp eyes studying the lines of his face. There was a faint shimmer at the back of his hand, a spell of sorts, the same he’d used when he first caught Ricky. “I finally caught you,” the detective breathed. There was a glint in his eyes – satisfaction? Delight? Pride? It was too dark, too hard to recognize.

“Congratulations,” Ricky wheezed glumly. “Geez, I thought you needed help and all I got was an ass whooping.”

“I don’t know what to think about you wanting to help, but I appreciate that,” Tinsley said. He reached into his pocket and lifted out a rat by its tail. It was clearly unconscious, though it was also trembling. A gray-green tint shimmered over its fur. “It was worth the trouble of planting a decoy.”

Ricky lifted his head to squint at the rat. “How’d you do that? I never heard of anyone being able to plant their own aura into another creature.”

“It’s a technique in developed to catch you,” Tinsley admitted. “It involves getting this little one to stand in a circle of my own design and having her ingest my nail clippings. A bit gross, but it’ll do. It also involves a lot of spells that are needlessly complicated, but the process is necessary. Then it’s all about locking her in a nightmare to keep her in a panicked and fearful state. She doesn’t need to be scared anymore though.” He whistled a short calming lullaby, so heavy with his magic that Ricky’s eyelids felt leaden. As the song ended, Ricky blinked the sleep out of his eyes and saw that the rat was no longer shivering, but was instead lying bonelessly in Tinsley’s hands, sound asleep. He gently put the rat in his pocket.

“You’re keeping the rat?” Ricky found himself asking incredulously. He stood up slowly.

“She’s a smart little thing. I can train her to help me with cases.” Tinsley shrugged and turned his attention back to him. “Don’t bother running. It’s obvious that’s what you’re planning to do.”

Ricky almost winced at the bluntness of Tinsley’s words. He knew it was obvious, but he didn’t have to point it out like that. “What if I run anyway?”

“You can’t,” Tinsley answered with a smile. “What do you think I’ve been doing this week? I didn’t just train my rat. I developed a binding spell just for you. If you think of running, I can just make you unable to move like this.” Another whistled three-tuned tone, and Tinsley’s limbs locked again. He must have looked alarmed, because Tinsley smiled and relinquished his hold. “Even if you managed to astral project, I can track you down through the sigil. You’re mine, Goldsworth.”

“See, when I imagine someone saying I’m theirs I usually imagine a sexy lady in bed, not some lanky detective who – “ he stopped talking. Cold creeped into his fingers, climbing up his skin and crawling up his back. “Uh, do you feel that?”

Tinsley’s confusion seemed genuine. “Feel what – “ he began, then he tensed. Evidently, he felt the same cold creeping in.

“Did you check if there are spirits in the area before you chose this location?” Ricky asked, tone hushed. Spirits could get disturbed and get angry when magic warred in their turf.

“I did, there are none,” Tinsley answered just as quietly. He frowned. “Unless the database was wrong about some spirits’ sensitivity area.”

“Most of the time living being can’t tell how sensitive a spirit can be,” Ricky hissed. Uneasiness grew in his chest. “Lessen your spell’s hold. I can hold the spirit back if I’m outside.”

Tinsley looked at him like he was mad. It was clear he didn’t trust Ricky.

“I won’t do anything,” Ricky said, desperate. “But we need to do _something_ to keep the spirit back, or we might get in trouble. It feels strong, it might try to kill us.”

But Tinsley’s eyes were locked at a point behind Ricky, to where the seawater lapped at the boats. “Too late,” he whispered, and he sounded as awed as he was scared.

Ricky turned to look at what Tinsley saw, and he gritted his teeth. “Aw, fuck.”

The spirit was pulling itself up, out from the water. Even from afar Ricky could see its flesh rotting off its bones, wet in the way only drowned corpses could be. Its skin was bleached blue by the sea, its hair falling off and tangled together. It looked up at the two of them with miserable eyes that seemed to radiate anger, jealousy, and bitterness in one. It emitted a sound that was halfway a moan and halfway a gurgle. Ricky could no longer see if it had been male or female in life, but he could tell that it had died suddenly and was unable to come to terms with it. By now, it was far too removed from its humanity to be called the ghost of a person.

He really should have been able to feel the spirit coming in. Was the spell Tinsley slapped on his soul so strong that it was able to dampen his sense? If yes, he was equally as tempted to applaud the detective as he was to slap him. _Mother of all fuckers_, he thought grudgingly.

He could feel Tinsley standing his ground, on guard. He could see him wetting his lips in preparation without actually seeing him. Ricky scooted back and hissed, “Lessen your spell.”

Tinsley’s sharp eyes darted to him in surprise and suspicion before they turned back on the spirit. Was the detective able to see spirits normally? If not, the spirit was stronger than Ricky was comfortable with.

“Lessen your spell,” Ricky urged again, more desperately this time. “Come on, Tins. Truce. Neither of us can defeat that spirit by ourselves. It’s too strong.”

Tinsley’s jaw tightened. Time was ticking by, and Ricky was desperate for him to say something, _do something_, but their time was up before he made his mind.

The spirit opened his partially rotting mouth and wailed. Tinsley and Ricky both reacted, casting a defensive spell, but the limiter meant Ricky’s prowess – which was minimal to begin with since passive magic was where he excelled – was even weaker than normal, and Tinsley simply couldn’t keep up with the strength of the spirit’s grudge. The wail knocked them off their feet, and Ricky cursed under his breath. He could do nothing with the limiter in place.

The spirit clearly saw Tinsley as the bigger threat, as it immediately went for him. It glided in the air, leaving a trail of water in its wake. On one hand, _rude_, on the other hand, _oh no Tins_.

To Tinsley’s credit, he immediately jumped back and gave a low, reverberating whistle. Translucent shimmer of a dome-shaped shield encased him, but a slash and a cry from the spirit was all it took to shatter it.

“Tins!” Ricky called. His voice cracked. “_Tinsley_! Lessen the spell!”

Tinsley wasn’t even looking at him. He looked conflicted, but his attention was clearly absorbed by the spirit. Flurries of half finished whistles and cut off spells blended together with the spirit’s gurgling cries. At one point, Tinsley reached into the pocket of his coat while whistling shrilly, and his rat woke with an alarmed start, saw the spirit, and leapt off, scampering to safety.

“Tins, you can’t do this alone!” Ricky yelled. He didn’t say _please_ but his tone was pleading all the same. “I can help you. I know how to deal with spirits.”

The spirit knocked Tinsley off his feet and held him down by the shoulders. It gave another gurgling moan, and water pooled in Tinsley’s shadow, climbing up to encase him. Alarm rose in Tinsley’s eyes, and he squeezed them shut when the water covered him from head to toe.

Ricky cursed under his breath and rushed ahead. In a fit of recklessness, he grabbed the spirit and yanked it, ignoring his own surprise at how the spirit felt tangible and not at the same time. He flared his own magic as hard as he was able to disrupt the water spell, and the bubble surrounding Tinsley broke. The detective gasped and coughed, spitting water to the ground, but at least he looked alert if a little bit pissed.

Unfortunately for Ricky, the spirit apparently saw him as too much of a nuisance and decided to attack him instead. The spirit pointed its magic at him, and water materialized out of nowhere and rose to encase Ricky in a bubble. He managed to hold his breath before it was knocked out of him somehow, but he knew he wouldn’t last long. The water was squeezing the air out of his lungs and even if Tinsley’s spell hadn’t been there Ricky wouldn’t have been able to do anything.

Through the blurred vision and the rippling water bubble, Ricky could see Tinsley tensing at the sight of him. Even with the barrier, he could see Tinsley heaving, and he could feel his magic rising, vines-and-ocean bubbling up, up, up as it pooled into his throat, his mouth, infusing his tongue and teeth and lips with sound magic so strong that had it been visible it would have shone like the sun.

And then Tinsley screamed.

It was wordless, but it was heavy with the entirety of Tinsley’s magic that the effect was immediate. Ricky had though Tinsley’s shout when he was attacked by the fire mage was strong, but it was nothing compared to the scream Tinsley released now.

The magic exploded as his voice rang out, and the water bubble drowning Ricky popped, leaving Ricky heaving and flopping like a fish thrown out of the sea. To his surprise, the magic passed him easily and left him unharmed. The shockwave it created blew the water out of the canals and pushed the floating boats until they collided with a painful thump to the cement docks. The chains lifting some of the boats snapped and the boats crashed to the floor, some of them shattering and some simply cracking. Some of the transparent glass panels at the roof cracked, one of them shattered to pieces and rained crystalline shards into the water.

Tinsley stopped screaming as soon as Ricky was safely out, barely even over five seconds after he started. By the way he fell to the ground and slumped on his side, though, it was clear that he was drained. Still, he whistled a three-tone tune and Ricky felt the magic that snared him and diminished his abilities lessened greatly. He let his dormant magic build up and casted a banishing spell, layering it with a protection spell for both him and Tinsley, and put up another layer of barrier spell to keep the spirit out of their radius for good measure. Once the spell hit, the spirit let out a wail and rocketed in the air, then plunged headfirst into the water. As soon as the spirit was gone, Tinsley whistled the same tune and the sigil tightened its grip again.

Ricky huffed and ignored the fact that he was dripping wet and walked over to the detective. “Next time, lessen the spell first,” he snarked as he plopped down and sat next to Tinsley. “How do you feel? Do you still have magic left – “ he stopped when Tinsley struck like a snake and clicked a handcuff on to his wrist, then more slowly and decisively cuffed the other to his own wrist. His free hand fell limply.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Tinsley whispered hoarsely. His eyelids drooped, but he was still awake. “Is the spirit gone?”

Ricky frowned and tried to reach out with his dampened senses. “It returned to sea. I can’t really feel where it is now. Because, you know, it would be a lot easier if you just lessen your spell’s hold.”

Tinsley simply snorted and sluggishly stood. He stumbled his way out of the shack, pulling his cuffed hand insistently. Ricky followed, partly because he didn’t like how tired Tinsley looked, partly because he was cuffed anyway. He wondered briefly if he should do something to escape. Another look at how Tinsley stumbled around made him decide not to, feeling that if he did Tinsley would do something extreme and end up passing out from magic deficiency.

Oh man, he really was getting attached. The fact that the sky looked pink as the dawn set in seriously didn’t help any.

* * *

Tinsley managed to get back to his car without falling face first into the concrete, which was honestly surprising. It took a lot of shuffling to get Goldsworth and himself inside, but they managed. Somehow. Tinsley couldn’t really remember how it happened.

A nose poked out from behind the wheel. Tinsley smiled. “There you are,” he muttered as he let the rat he’d taken with him climb onto his palm. “I’m glad you’re safe.”

“You’re _really_ keeping the rat,” Goldsworth commented beside him. He sounded baffled.

“You kill people and you draw the line at keeping a pet rat?” Tinsley grumbled. He wetted his lips and whistled a simple spell. The rat’s fur shimmered a murky sea green, then the color melted into Tinsley’s skin. He took a deep breath and blinked a few times, already feeling awake.

“…huh.” Goldsworth leaned into his seat. He sounded impressed. “That’s a pretty cool trick. Was it the part of your aura you planted as a decoy?”

“Yes. And thank you, it took a while perfecting it.” Tinsley petted the rat. “Thanks, Rita.” The rat sniffed in response and scurried into the small cage Tinsley brought and put at the backseat. After making sure she was comfortable, Tinsley started the car and drove back to his apartment. Golden sunlight pore into the streets as he pulled into the highway, and already the traffic had pushed the roads to their limits. Tinsley sighed. This was going to be a long day.

The trip stretched and it had started to feel longer than it actually was. Beside him, Goldsworth started to hum an undiscernible tune. Some sort of children’s song or some nursery rhyme, if Tinsley wasn’t wrong. He didn’t miss the way Goldsworth kept glancing at him and the remnant of the tracking spell he used to get him. This close, Tinsley didn’t need the spell’s guiding presence to feel Goldsworth’s static buzz.

“Why’d you help me?” Tinsley blurted out, surprising himself with the question.

“What?”

“Why did you help me? Back when the flame mage attacked me. And earlier, too; you’d have helped me if I was actually in danger. Why?”

“Why not?” Goldsworth asked back. He blinked at Tinsley. “I mean, you needed help. I’d help.”

“Normally, people would be more than happy to leave me for dead,” Tinsley pointed out. “Many people would take advantage of my situation.”

“Well I didn’t want to. Still don’t want to.”

“Why?” Tinsley all but demanded. He spared the criminal a glance, then focused his attention back to the road.

Goldsworth fell silent for a while. Tinsley waited and let the silence stretch, inwardly cussing about the traffic and swallowing his impatience for both the crawling cars and Goldsworth’s answer.

God, Tinsley felt so cranky. And hungry. How long had he gone without eating? He needed breakfast, and soon.

“This is kind of embarrassing to say,” Goldsworth hedged, “and it will probably be awkward.”

Tinsley snorted. “I’ve dealt with a lot of embarrassing and awkward situations. Putting yours in the pile won’t be that much of a problem.”

Goldsworth sighed and ruffled his hair with his free hand. “It’s… well, there’s no point beating around the bush. I like you.”

The hunger that had sit in Tinsley’s stomach disappeared in a blink, and in its place was something heavy that made him feel like he was on the brink of nausea but it never came. “I’m sorry, what.”

“I like you. There’s no way to go around that. I do.” Goldsworth tugged at his cuff, tugging Tinsley’s hand along. “Do you know how many people got close to me in their pursuit?”

“None,” Tinsley whispered. His eyes remained locked to the road but it started to feel like he was driving on autopilot. “Exactly none at all. Except for me.”

“Yeah, and… and it was weird for me.” Goldsworth swallowed. Was he blushing? Tinsley couldn’t tell. “It was a dilemma, you know? On one hand, I’m aware that you’re absolutely able to overpower me and bring me in if you really wanted. You’re skilled enough with your magic to do it. On the other hand, _no one was able to match me before_. I _like_ going toe to toe with you. It’s a game I’ve never been able to play before, and once I got a taste of it I couldn’t stop. It was _fun_, dammit. It wasn’t supposed to be fun.”

“You ran to help me because you _like_ me.” Tinsley concluded. “Because I was able to match you, and you… don’t want to stop playing cat and mouse?”

“I want to enjoy it while it lasts,” Goldsworth corrected. “I know it wouldn’t last forever. You’re too good of a detective, and I’m not nearly as magically skilled as you. It doesn’t mean I don’t enjoy playing the game.”

“And those people you possessed after I managed to track you? Did you possess them because you wanted to kill them, or because you wanted to keep playing the game?”

“I _help_ those people,” Goldsworth corrected, as if he was trying to help a grandma cross the road instead of leading people to their deaths. “But to answer your question… part of it was because I wanted to play the game, sure.”

“What about the other part?”

“Well, they’re the kind of people who’d consider my help at the very least.” Goldsworth shifted and stared right at Tinsley. “But mostly, I just like seeing you around, and being around you. It’s nice.”

Tinsley opened his mouth to speak, then stopped. Ricky’s confession rattled him so much that he momentarily lost control of his magic, and it pooled in his mouth. He swallowed and let the taste of leaves and saltwater dissipate from his tongue, managing to rein his magic back in. He took a deep breath and released it slowly. He wasn’t sure what to say anymore.

A sudden ring of his cellphone saved him from the mortifying silence that followed Ricky’s words, and he answered it much more enthusiastically than he normally would. “Hello, Tinsley speaking – “

“_Detective Tinsley? This – this is Bergara, do you remember me?_”

“Yes, of course,” Tinsley said with a frown. The woman’s voice was frazzled, panicked. “Is something wrong?”

“_We found out that the situation is more dire than we expected. Is… is it alright if we push the schedule for the ritual to today? Is it possible for you?_”

“It’s possible for me. I’m in town, Mrs. Bergara.” It was hard driving one-handed while cuffed to someone while he talked on the phone, but Tinsley made do. Goldsworth was cooperative and respectfully kept silent while Tinsley talked. As Tinsley turned the wheel with his cuffed hand, Goldsworth followed the motion. “Can you tell me the address again?” He listened as Bergara rattled off the address and nodded. He could remember that. “Okay. What time should I get there?”

“_The sooner the better. I only told everyone to gather at noon at the latest._”

“I understand. It will take a while for me, but I’ll be there in a bit.” He hung up, put the phone away, and put his free hand back on the wheel.

“Care to share what that was about?” Goldsworth asked. “Come on. I was being good and not bothering you.”

Tinsley scrunched up his nose. “I’m almost tempted to leave you in the dark just for that sentence alone.” He sighed. “I’m not… comfortable. With you.”

Goldsworth’s face turned solemn. “Is it because I told you I liked you?”

Fingers drummed on the steering wheel. With a sigh, Tinsley admitted, “I’m… I don’t feel comfortable knowing that a killer enjoys being around me. I’m not comfortable with you telling me that you like me. If someone like you likes me, what does that make me?”

“First of all, rude,” Goldsworth quipped. “Also, it makes you a damn good detective. If you weren’t, I wouldn’t like you in the first place.”

Tinsley gritted his teeth. He stared ahead and took a deep breath. With a loud huff, he released the breath and closed his eyes, finding solace in the dark of his eyelids if only for a moment. When he opened his eyes again, he stared resolutely ahead and refused to look at Goldsworth.

“Right now, I have a job to help with a ritual to help a young boy,” he said. “I was going to drop you off in the police station, but I’m pressed for time. You’re coming with me to the Bergara household.”

“Okay, so a quick trip. That’s fine.”

Tinsley clenched his jaws and continued as though Goldsworth hadn’t interrupted. “When I’m done with the ritual, I’m giving you to the police. I don’t want to see you again, and I don’t want to have anything to do with you anymore. Is that clear?”

Goldsworth chuckled nervously. “Aw, Tins, but that’s – “

“_Is that clear_?” Tinsley repeated firmly. At this, all trace of laughter melted away from Goldsworth’s face, and Tinsley ignored the guilt that climbed up his throat like a bile.

“Crystal,” he said somberly. He ruffled his hair and uncomfortably looked away. “But… just so you know, if I ever feel you need help again, I’ll come running.”

“I’d rather you don’t. Stay inside the prison, please.”

“Prisons generally aren’t equipped for astral projectors. I can deal with that.” A small smile played at his lips. “I’d rather you hate me but alive and safe than you not hating me but in harm.”

Tinsley pursed his lips and stayed silent. Goldsworth’s words were a promise, and he wasn’t sure what to make of it. the uncomfortable pit in his stomach refused to budge. In the end, Tinsley accepted the uncomfortable feeling and swallowed it away.

Only hours later, when he’d changed the handcuff into a thick red thread that would keep Goldsworth bound to him no matter the distance and he was sucked into the portal leading to another world, he saw how Goldsworth had meant every word he said about running to his rescue. When Goldsworth reached out to him, he reached back out, the red thread thinning, thinning –

The portal closed, and the red thread snapped. It turned dull, lifeless brown, and withered away. Goldsworth’s face danced in Tinsley’s vision, so full of panic and fear that for a moment Tinsley forgot that he was supposed to bring Goldsworth to justice.

Well. It wasn’t like it mattered now. He had no way to go home, no way to meet Goldworth again, no way to talk to him ever again…

He stilled for a moment, and a laugh that sounded much more like a sob escaped his lips. He could have worried about so many other things, like the fact that he was stuck here while the demon was out roaming, that he had no way of knowing whether the ritual worked, that he still had other cases to attend to and Rita to feed and Francesca and how he would never know what her actual job or magic was. Instead he was stuck thinking about _Goldsworth_, of all people.

It didn’t help that he finally realized Goldsworth’s static buzz was gone. After what seemed so long, he was well and truly alone for the first time.

He thought back on the snapped red thread. His chest ached with something he didn’t recognize, but he shoved the thought away. He was in a territory he didn’t know about. There would be time to mull about other things later. For now, he needed a shelter and a way to survive.

* * *

“There’s nothing we can do now,” the lady that sparked gold and silver said carefully. “When something comes out of a portal, something else must take its place.”

“Then we push that thing back where it came from and drag Tinsley back,” Ricky said without thinking, and it surprised him just as much as it did the others. He snapped his jaw closed and realized that was as much a plan as it was a vow.

The spellcaster, though, barked a laugh at that. “I like that plan,” he said, then he began casting a new spell. The lady followed soon after, her own magic flaring and shining like a beacon in the basement. Ricky hesitated, knowing how active magic was his weak point, then deciding that he could at the very least use Tinsley’s spells. He began whistling apprehensively, then grew bolder as magic – very clearly Tinsley’s design but Ricky’s in flavor – flowed smoothly into the air.

He told Tinsley that if he’d ever feel the detective in trouble, he’d come running. This clearly counted as trouble. He’d get Tinsley out of there, no matter how long it took, no matter what price he had to pay. No price was too high. After all, death wasn’t the end.

Years later, he would find that he really would have to die to save Tinsley. As the demon hiding within the boy he once saved came out of the portal and lunged at him, Ricky found with a mild surprise that he really didn’t care at all about dying. After all, it did open new possibilities of allying with Bergara – _Ryan_ – and by extension, Sara and Shane. And by the end, Tinsley _did_ get back to the world he left nearly twenty years ago by some forces he had no way of fighting against.

He truly had nothing left to take care of in the world of the living when he let the next world took hold of him. He smiled at the detective. “Farewell,” he said at last, sure that Tinsley didn’t want to have anything to do with him and was content to fulfill that wish.

Instead Tinsley answered, “Until we meet again,” and giddy laugh burst out of Ricky before he could stop it. It was a promise, one that they would hold dearly even though they were separated by the barriers of life and death.

But that was no problem. They managed to do it before. They could do it all over again.


End file.
